Breakers
by Neva
Summary: The waves had broken. He couldn't escape, couldn't run, couldn't look for the easy way out anymore. None of them could." Scott's and Alex's thoughts during "Ascension, Part I".


A/N: Well, officially rocked. I may have some quibbles with Apocalypse the Smirking Cyborg and the disappointing video-game nature of the Sentinel battles (I think even Trask's eyes were glazing over at those), but the introduction of the Four Horseman was something else entirely. However, according to one of the ensuing conversations about the episode, Scott's reaction to the of Xavier deserved more attention than Jean's. This coupled with a desire to revisit a character whom I wrote about at length in the _Shaky Ground_ sequels but have only barely mentioned since... and _voila_!  
  
Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel and Kids WB.  
  
Dedication: For Sandoz, Red Witch, and Elrohir -- best reviewers.  
  
**  
  
Jean had waited until she'd collected herself completely, before leaving on her own recruiting mission. Scott had watched her go. Status or no status, the facts remained. The professor hadn't been sought out by _his_ parents from the first day things had ceased to be even a little bit normal, and hadn't spent hours traversing the hidden hallways of _his_ mind, blocking off harmful memories and impulses. Xavier and Jean shared a bond that transcended common abilities, and that was far more... familial... than his relationships with any of the others. She was the one he had _saved_, the one whose achievements brought a proud and wistful glow to his eyes, and therefore the one who was allowed to break down when, for all intents and purposes, he was lost to them forever. And Scott, who had tried his very hardest not to resent either that bond or the secrets she shared with their mentor instead of with him, was both expected and perfectly happy to be the shoulder she cried on. She needed that. His position -- his place -- was to assimilate the shock and the pain and not let anyone know that he was taking what little comfort he could, while he gave all he had. It was what he'd taught himself to do, so long ago.   
  
Now he hesitated before punching in the number. _If I'm going to involve him at all, I should just do it. I should take the jet and pluck him off that island first, answer questions later..._  
  
What was he thinking? Alex _had_ to know. They weren't going to survive this battle if they weren't aware, from the start, of what they were getting into.  
  
_But we don't have a choice. He does.  
_  
Wolverine had said to round up everyone else that they could. Which meant dragging Spyke out of hiding, forcing the Angel to fly again, and, like in any war, not letting emotions get in the way of doing what had to be done.   
  
(Which had it a potentially bad idea to send Kitty after the Brotherhood. Logan had thought that she would have the best chance of getting through to them, but Logan hadn't been there when Kitty screamed in Avalanche's face, calling him a hood, back when their biggest concern was being admitted back into the mundane world of Bayville High. And he hadn't -- as Jean had -- walked in on Kitty just a few days ago while she was staring at a picture of herself and Lance, as if it might offer her a way back, before putting it away in a drawer and looking up guiltily at the approaching footsteps, as if she'd been caught sneaking drugs.)  
  
He still remembered the phone number. How, after everything that had happened in the past few hours alone, could he still recall something so trivial? How could he make his voice work when the voice on the other end said, Hey. Masters residence.  
  
  
  
Who else would it be, bro?  
  
Scott remembered that same voice laughing at him as he was thrown to the ground in a Mexico airport, and the smell of knockout gas filling his nostrils, and was gripped by a small shudder. Don't ask that. Please.  
  
Things still not any better in Bayville? It had been deemed for Alex to attend the graduation ceremony -- which had turned out to be all kinds of for the best -- but he'd been kept up to date on everything that had happened since then.  
  
_Three, two, one. Exit Scott, enter Cyclops._ Yes, it was working -- he more felt than heard the take-charge, no-time-to-waste edge entering his voice. Taking over. Something's happened.  
  
You noticed? Alex must have sensed it, too, though, because he sobered up right away. What is it? What happened?  
  
We need your help, Scott told him.  
  
You're gonna have to give me more information than that, man.  
  
No, I don't. I'll explain when you get here.  
  
No. Uh-uh. You tell me _now_.  
  
Had he heard such a decisive _no_ from Alex since the two of them had been reunited? He wasn't sure. _I gave you an order!_ The words were on the tip of his tongue, and he had to physically bite them back. He had made the switch from one persona to another with customary ease, but he wasn't the one whose service was needed. _Service_... what was he doing, anyway? Asking his brother for a favor, or calling a reserve soldier to serve in an unasked-for war? Alex _hated_ using his powers, and not just because every joint still ached when he strained himself. He hadn't had the same training that the others had.   
  
And he'd tried to build a basically normal life since returning to Hawaii, despite having met and begun dating a girl who was a mutant herself. It wouldn't be fair to him...  
  
And if the circumstances had been even the slightest bit different, Scott would have laughed. _Fair_? All of this was so beyond and not fair that words could barely define it. He changed tactics. What you need to know is, if we don't do something, ordinary humans all over the world are at stake this time around. He knew from the resulting silence that Alex knew what that meant, knew that there was no need to ask, _Would you be able to live with yourself?_, knew that the decision had already been made. The professor and Storm are already gone. And he explained everything, against his better judgment and as quickly as possible. No time for wondering, as they all probably were, _But what if they're still in there?_ For everyone's sake, they had to remember above all else that they were fighting a weather witch and a supremely strong telepath, not to mention two of their oldest enemies, all of whose powers were running completely unchecked. Even without that single question (_But what if they _are_...?_) that wouldn't let go no matter how much they wanted it to, how could they _hope_ to...  
  
_You must always have hope, Scott.   
_  
_Yeah, but look what it did to you._ Aloud, pushing that blasphemous thought away, he finished, Apocalypse means business. Will you help us?  
  
An even longer silence. Then, I'll try to get a flight out of here.  
  
Call me if there are any problems. I'll come get you in the jet. Unasked questions and unspoken regrets traveled down the line between them.   
  
Shaky voice, uncertain, full of un-disguised fear.  
  
_Forgive me._   
  
  
**  
  
Suppose someone, in the last year or so, had asked the typical Hawaiian surf rat why he enjoyed riding the waves. He would have given a classic, a tried-and-true, a safe answer, something along the lines of, What's not to like? This with a toss of his soft, thick, sun-bleached hair that Lorna, whose own green tresses caused people to whisper and point as they walked through the halls together, loved to run her hands through. And his typical surf-rat friends -- who thought that he was a little flaky sometimes, maybe even stupid with some of the risks he took, but liked and respected him anyway -- would have responded with nods and high-fives. She would have rolled her eyes -- _See what I have to put up with!_ -- and then playfully tugged him away from the others.  
  
All this as if he were, in fact, a typical surfer. Or even a typical _anything_.  
  
But that hadn't mattered, had it? Not until now.   
  
_Something's happened. Will you help us?_ Those had been Scott's exact words. And his little brother, who had spent six years trusting him absolutely and another eight missing him and the one after that sticking by him no matter how many times their lives had been put on the line, had only hesitated for a moment, and was now staring from his airplane seat at the water below, at the waves he loved so much. They didn't argue with him, didn't whisper things as he passed by in the halls, didn't try to get him to join their cause. Out there, even more than with his friends, even more than with Lorna, he wasn't Havok, wasn't the lost and forgotten Summers brother, wasn't anyone but Alex. Out there, there were no lynch mobs, no Sentinels, no gigantic energy domes, and no bad dreams.  
  
_What's not to like?  
_  
Bad dreams... yeah, he still had some of those once in a while. Even before the hurricane had raged through his subconscious or he'd found himself looking in the mirror and being faced with white hair and expressionless eyes, there was _the_ familiar one, the one that dated almost from the months after the crash. He was falling again, through the light cast by the blazing plane (and even now, he dreaded hearing the word over the loudspeaker), groping blindly for Scott's hand, only to find that there was nothing to cling to. He'd told himself when he was younger that of he could somehow find a handhold in his dreams, everything would be all right again. But it hadn't been. It hadn't been all right at all. And he wanted this to be just another nightmare. It could so easily have been -- the X-Men were working with Magneto's former cronies, Charles Xavier had gone completely evil, and nothing made sense anymore, if it ever had.  
  
He thought of the note that he'd left on the kitchen counter. _Scott needs me. Don't worry, I'll be fine. And I'll be back soon. _And he'd actually put down the pencil before scrawling, just before his signature, _I love you both._ Because he knew, somehow, even if they didn't, what was making him write that.  
  
_I'm not ready for this. I mean, I haven't used my powers in so long that until lately I almost forgot I had them, and... and..._  
  
And even if Scott needing him was good enough for _him_ -- and it was, wasn't it? -- who else would it be good enough for? Who else would understand? His parents had understood enough about his being a mutant, sure. And they'd put up with him after the accident, hadn't they? Put up with the all those nights that he'd almost forgotten until now, when he'd run out of the house, barefoot and half-blind with tears, shouting up at the stars, begging for these strangers to let him go, convinced that his _real_ family wasn't gone, that they'd been rescued by aliens and teleported aboard a starship, and were having rockin' wild adventures in some other galaxy.  
  
He'd always been thrilled by outer space, to the point where it drove everyone else in the house crazy.   
  
And he'd stayed thrilled, even after they'd... even _after_._  
  
But none of that means that they like him. They never did. They wouldn't let me go to his graduation cause blame him for everything that's happened to me._  
  
Still, what if he _wasn't_ back soon?  
  
What if he never saw them again? Or his friends, or Lorna, or... or anyone? But from what he'd been told, that might be the case whether he went or stayed. And what if -- again judging from the urgency in Scott's voice, which he recognized all too well -- it was too late for them all anyway?  
  
The waves had broken. He couldn't escape, couldn't run, couldn't look for the easy way out anymore.  
  
None of them could.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
